


The Anniversary

by elizaye



Series: FWB!verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel knows when to be there for Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> The title may be slightly misleading. It's not the anniversary that you're probably thinking of.

It’s always hard to convince Cas to stay in bed just a bit longer.  Cas’s always been the sensible, careful one, and it just makes sense that he’d be the one to observe those stupid “rules” so closely.

Dean, on the other hand, doesn’t think too much of them.  This is especially true right after sex.  And since Cas already knows he’s a cuddleslut, Dean’s got nothing to lose when he octopuses his limbs around his bedmate, nuzzling into his neck.  Towards the beginning, Cas only allowed maybe ten minutes of this.  But Dean’s been gradually extending it, and over the past year, he’s worn Cas down to the point that Cas might stay in Dean’s bed for up to half an hour, on a good night.

Staying longer in Cas’s bed, however, is quite a bit easier.  Mostly because it’s easier for Cas to worm his way out from the tangle of Dean’s limbs and slip away than it is to banish Dean from his bed.

Either way, the important thing is that Dean gets his fill of cuddling, usually after friggin’ amazing sex, and he’s definitely enjoying this arrangement.  Cas seems surprised that they lasted so long.  Dean likes to roll his eyes and say he knew all along that they were soulmates, but he’s secretly surprised, too.  And pleased.

It’s been over a year since the night that started this.  They started eating dinners together regularly just under a year ago, for the sake of simplicity.  After all, they’ve got rules about staying overnight and breakfast the morning after, but no one ever said anything about dinner.  In the first few months, they alternated between Dean and Cas’s places about evenly.

But ever since Sam got into Stanford Law, Dean’s had a hard time staying alone in that huge, empty husk of a home.  Dad still hasn’t come back in all this time, and Dean gets the feeling that he never will.

So nearly every single day, Dean seeks out his best friend and tries to persuade him to come over.  Because even though he ultimately gets less cuddle time this way, Dean can still curl up in the space where Cas lay and inhale his scent to remind himself that he’s not alone.  Dean hates coming back from Cas’s apartment to an empty mansion and a cold bed.  Hates it so much he could _die_.

These are things he doesn’t say— _can’t_ say, to be honest.  He’s never liked being vulnerable.  Even Sam doesn’t know just how much it kills Dean to have their family scattered around like this.  But Sam’s in law school, and he’s happy.  Dad’s busying himself with work to avoid coming home to painful memories, and when he calls, he sounds content.  And as long as they’re happy, Dean can deal with this achy emptiness.

He’ll be fine.  He always is.

But yeah, Dean’s never been this thankful that Cas is around, that he could possibly take on an offer to stay at the university as a professor, because that means Cas won’t be going anywhere.  _Won’t be leaving me_ , Dean tries hard not to think.

And just as he’s thinking of giving Cas a call, he hears that familiar, growly voice—“Hello, Dean.”

Dean jerks upright from his reclining position on the couch.  “ _Jesus!_   Cas, make a noise when you’re comin’ in, next time.”

“I made plenty of noise,” Cas responds nonchalantly, settling beside Dean on the couch.  “You just weren’t paying attention.  What the hell are you watching?”

Dean turns his head to look at the TV, which—oh, it _is_ on.  “I have no idea,” he admits.  “Is that in Spanish?” he adds when he realizes that he doesn’t understand a word they’re saying.

“No.  Italian—you get television channels in _Italian?_ ”

“You know me.  I just picked the package with the most channels.  I get stuff in Chinese or Japanese, too. Probably both, come to think of it.”

Cas stares at him for a moment before saying, “As interesting as the history of Florence is to me—and you know I’m interested in that—wouldn’t you rather watch something in a language we both can understand?”

Dean grunts his assent but does nothing.

Cas gets up and pulls open the DVD cabinet, and Dean can’t help but smile.  Cas and Dean have such different taste in movies that well, it means a lot that Cas hasn’t brought along his own movie with nine gajillion arguments for why they should watch it, instead of another episode of _Walker, Texas Ranger_.  Dean can’t even get him into _Star Wars_ , _or_ _Star Trek_.  You’d think, with all his quirkiness, Cas would try to relate to Spock, but he can’t.  Apparently.

Dean’s pulled out of his thoughts when Cas sits back down again.

Then the movie’s starting, and it takes Dean longer than it should to realize that it’s _Forrest Gump_.  Of course.  It’s one of the few movies that they both like, and Dean’s just grateful that Cas didn’t try going upstairs to raid Sam’s collection of DVDs—Sam and Cas have similar taste because they’re both giant _nerds_ , except that Sam’s a proper nerd and still likes _Star Trek_.  Cas is just plain weird.

Cas pinches his arm.  “Pay attention,” he reprimands Dean.

“Yeah, as if I need to.  How many times have we watched this?” Dean snipes.

Cas doesn’t answer.

A few minutes later, Cas leans over, nuzzles into Dean’s neck for a moment before resting his head on Dean’s shoulder, eyes still fixed on the TV.  Dean drapes an arm around Cas’s shoulders, shifts to get more comfortable, and his eyes inexplicably begin to prickle.

Well—not so inexplicably.

Because today is the day of Mom’s death, so many years ago.  And he hates thinking about it— _hates_ it—hence the long, rambling session of thinking about _anything but Mom_.  It hurts that Dean is the only one in town on this day.  Dad and Sam both called earlier on in the day, but it’s just not the same.

He wishes he had enough words to thank Cas for knowing.  Knowing to be here, knowing not to say anything about it—any of it, knowing that Dean’s a tactile person and needs touch, needs it to feel like he’s not alone, knowing that that’s the reason why he likes cuddling so much.

But Dean doesn’t say things like this.  So he twists and curls up on the couch, pulls Cas into his arms.  “Cas…” he whispers, but he can’t get any farther than that.

Cas doesn’t turn his head toward Dean, just rests a hand on the one that Dean’s placed on his chest.  “I know, Dean.  I know,” he says softly, and of course he’d know that Dean doesn’t have the words.

Dean watches as Forrest races across the football field and wonders how the hell he got so lucky.

* * *

When Dean’s breaths even out, slow and deep, Castiel reaches out, gets the remote, and turns off the television.  He starts to sit up, but Dean’s arms tighten around him, and he can feel Dean tensing up against his back.

“Cas, what—”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel says, patting Dean’s hand.

“Hmm,” Dean hums sleepily.  But his arms don’t relax, and it breaks Castiel’s heart every time he’s reminded that Dean is so used to losing people—being _left behind_ —so used to it that he’s afraid to let go.

“Relax, Dean,” he coaxes softly.  “When you wake up, I’ll be here.  That’s a promise.”

Dean grunts.  “Yeah, right.  Last time you said—”

“I didn’t promise that time.”

“Oh.  I guess you didn’t,” Dean responds, words slurring together toward the end.

Castiel turns his head slightly, presses his temple into Dean’s jaw, and hums an old lullaby, low and soft.  It’s the tune his mother used to sing for him when he was a child.  It was soothing for him then, and he hopes it will help Dean now.

“Mm, sounds good,” Dean mumbles, limbs loosening as he drifts toward unconsciousness, and Castiel smiles.


End file.
